


My Angel is a centrefold

by SlashGod



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of pornography, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 09:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19460836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashGod/pseuds/SlashGod
Summary: Crowley stumbles across an old porn mag. A really old porn mag. Back when they would hand stitch it together and things were mostly painted on it.When he says ‘stumbles’ he actually means it was triple locked in a chest hidden under Aziraphales book shop floor boards.He nearly faints when he flicks it open, and there, smack in the middle, (what is usually called a center-fold), is a very raunchy painting of Aziraphale, the likes of which will never be shared again, as it ends up in Crowley’s safe.For safe keeping.





	My Angel is a centrefold

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to aphoney-Cree who answered my call out “send me a made-up fic title and I'll tell you what I would write to go with it” this is for you my friend. I’m still accepting titles if anyone else wants to send me one. I am ineffable-bastard-Crowley on tumblr

With the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t being all over and done with, both Aziraphale and Crowley had a lot more free time. 

So much free time, in fact, that Anathema had taken it upon herself to introduce Aziraphale into the 21st Century.

Usually, Crowley would have been all for such an education. As the creator of the selfie, he wanted nothing more than to see Aziraphales adorable face as he snapped artistic shots at various places in his bookshop.

Unfortunately, Anathema hadn’t been thinking of selfies in particular. She had wanted to take Aziraphale to a book fair.

“Boring.” Crowley mumbled as he flicked through one of Aziraphales books, promptly putting it back where he got it. Book fairs could be manageable, only, Crowley hadn’t been invited. No, Aziraphale would rather he stayed here, and watch the shop. Which was even more boring than a book fair. At least the book fair had Aziraphale to make it interesting.

Crowley wouldn’t have usually bothered actually being at the bookshop when he was on watching duty, only Aziraphale was still waiting for a shipment of books, and Crowley just couldn’t say no when those big blue eyes were turned to him. 

The pen he had been twirling fell from between his finger tips and rolled under the sofa that had been put there for Crowley’s benefit. He remembered fondly when Aziraphale had replaced a bookshelf with said sofa, claiming that if Crowley was going to be hanging around he didn’t want the demon to make the place look untidy. 

Now, Crowley could have left the pen there, to be rediscovered in another 1,000 years, but he rather liked that pen. Not just because it had been a gift from Aziraphale, but because at the time Aziraphale had been terribly angry with him and had it engraved ‘bastard’ instead of his name. Crowley treasured that pen.

Which is why, with one firm kick of his leg, the sofa was a few feet away and Crowley was stepping on a very creaky floor board.

“My my my.” He said in delight, testing the board with his weight. “Whatever do we have here.”

He grabbed the pen, slipping it into his pocket before he tugged at the loose board, an inconspicuous broken knot just big enough for him to slip his finger in, giving him leverage to lift the board up. Only it didn’t just lift the board up, it lifted several up. Reminiscent of a trap door, only it wasn’t a classic square one, rather, a group of boards that lifted together to make it match the floor around it. No even lines to give away that the boards should move at all.

Underneath was a small cubby, large enough for a couple of chests, but not deep enough that Crowley could step inside and hide. [1]

Crowley took note of the chest that was nestled there, looking as if it had been custom made for this precise spot. He glanced at the clock on Aziraphales desk, antique, made a click everytime the second hand moved, something he had tuned out a long time ago. Aziraphale wasn’t due back for at least another 12 hours. Which was plenty of time to snoop, and return the chest and floor board to where it had once been. Heaven, he might even manage a nap.

He pulled out the chest, flipping it open before he could change his mind.

Books.

It was more bloody books. Crowley was about to say ‘fuck it’ and just shove the chest back into the floor, a little annoyed that Aziraphale was hiding  _ books _ of all things, in the  _ middle of a bookshop _ to boot, but something caught his eye. 

“Hello.” Crowley plucked the pocket book from the corner of the chest. The book itself was no bigger than the average pocket, with the cover being a crude leather. Red. Crowley vaguely remembered these books being awfully popular. Mainly because the contents contained pornographic images.

“What are you doing with this, Angel.” Crowley muttered to himself. It looked to be the only type of said book in the hidden chest. The rest were texts. Now fully invested, Crowley flipped open the book.

And promptly dropped it, falling back onto his arse. 

His glasses were skewed on his face, pupils blown wide, eyes blinking slow, purposefully. 

He glanced back to the book, and slowly picked it from the floor.

This time he took a steadying breath, then opened it back to the center. On the left hand side, the one that didn’t fold out, was Aziraphales face. White curls and flushed cheeks. Painted. As most things were before photography was invented. But it was certainly Aziraphale, Crowley would recognise those piercing blue eyes anywhere.

The thing that had shocked him was… well, Aziraphale had a cock in his mouth. 

Crowley subconsciously licked his lips. His fingers toys with the right hand page, the one that usually folded outwards, revealing more of the centerfold. 

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure he had the nerves to open it. If the page that wasn’t hidden had that on it, what could possibly be behind the fold? 

“In for a penny, in for a pound.” He muttered, flipping open the folded page and making one of the most animalistic noises he had ever heard.

His face was flushed from the very tips of his ears all the way down to his neck, and he couldn’t look away. While Aziraphale might have had a cock in his mouth, Crowley hadn’t expected to see him eagerly between another mans legs, hands on his hips as he rammed into him. Okay, so maybe the eager and the ramming part were in Crowley’s imagination. What wasn’t in his imagination was the sheer stockings Aziraphale was wearing, and the look of absolute pleasure on the gents face that Aziraphale was taking. The angle was odd, but so tastefully done one wouldn’t question it, unless one had been in a similar situation.

There was a knock at the shop doors, and Crowley scrambled to his feet, his wobbly snake legs forgetting how to work for a moment. The pocket book of porn was shoved into his pocket, and Crowley was signing for Aziraphales delivery.

The chest was rescaled and placed back in its hole in the middle of the bookshop, floorboards carefully replaced and sofa pushed back into position.

Crowley never did get his nap, but he did keep the notebook. It was now much safer than it had been, locked away in his safe behind his sketch of the Mona Lisa. He still got it out, occasionally, to thumb through the pages until he ultimately ended up in the middle, staring at Aziraphales flushed cheeks, wet lips, and the smooth glide of the sheer stockings.

Aziraphale never mentioned the missing book, even if he did check it off in his inventory. He still knew it’s location, and if he hadn’t wanted Crowley to find it, it would have been locked away in his own pocket dimension, with the rest of the materials he was waiting to show Crowley. When the demon was ready.

Small steps. He didn’t want to go too fast, and they had all the time in the world.

—

[1] the only other time he had seen such a well hidden place had been when the Underground Railroad was still in operation, and the resistance would hide people under their floorboards until they could be moved to another, safer location. This place wasn’t deep enough to allow the scurry of bodies, but it was deep enough to hide away jewels, or treasures that one might not want to be found. Say, during a Nazi raid, for example.


End file.
